Chapter Forty-Two: Visionary

Irish was devastated. Her grandmother was gone, and nobody would tell her how she died! Did they think she was stupid? That saying "she's in a better place" would placate her? Her face tear-stained, Irish falls into a fitful sleep.
She finds herself in a blurry dream world, Nathalie walking towards her from the kitchen. "Is this real?" Irish wonders blearily, not sure if she really cares. Her grandmother is here. Not gone, not dead. Right here, those familiar blue eyes looking sadly at her.

"Gamma?" Irish asks childishly, still shocked. She stares down at the chess pieces in front of her, trying to think of what to say. Her mind is fuzzy, like she's only half here.
"Irish, sweetheart." Nathalie whispers, and Irish strains to hear her. "Let's play chess, it'll be easier to talk if our spirits are closer together." Irish nods as she pulls up a chair and makes the first move.

"I'm surprised you're not alarmed at my presence. You know this isn't just a regular dream, right?" Nathalie asks softly. Irish nods with a small smirk.
"I don't tend to dream much at night, let alone have lucid dreams. So, yeah, I suspected it was a bit of paranormal working here. But I wanted to see you again, so why would I complain?" Irish has to laugh at her grandmother's flabbergasted expression. "Hey, I may not be a genius, but I'm pretty damn logically."
"Language Irish!" Nathalie tries to scold, but only starts laughing with Irish.

The laughter dies down as Irish realizes this will be the last time she'll see Nathalie until she passes on. "It's going to weird without you here." Irish mumbles as she makes her move. "Ty's going to bury himself in police work to forget about you, and Roxanne's just never around. Seriously, she must think plants are more important then her children. Sometimes I hate her!" Nathalie shakes her head softly, looking slightly disappointed.
"You don't hate her, you're just hurt. But Irish, she's your mother. Even if she's not perfect you need to respect her. I've made many mistakes in my life, and I didn't even realize many of them until I passed on. She's human too." Irish shrugs softly, but it's evident that she understands what Nathalie is saying. Trying to change the subject, she asks the one question that has been itching at her ever since this dream...vision...whatever it is started.

"Why did you visit me Gramma? I'm fine, I'm sure Dad or Isa would need to see you more." Irish asks softly.
"You're not fine sweetheart, you miss Ned and I very much. More then you would like the rest of the family to know. You never did quite get over Ned's death, did you? Seeing him in his ghost form helped, but you were always Gampa's girl." A soft tear falls down Irish's cheek, and Nathalie reaches over to brush it away.
"And really Irish, you're the most open to this kind of vision. Even though I was a ghost hunter, Tyson really never believed my stories. I think he thought they were tall tales, or exaggerations. He's a smart man, my Ty-Ty, but doesn't quite get that logic and creativity aren't that different. I can't reach him, as he wouldn't believe this to be more then a dream."
"Gramma-" Nathalie shushes her softly, giving Irish a knowing smile.
"I'm getting to Isadora, you silly girl. Isa is more open then Ty, but she's not as close to me as we were. She's been an independent soul since she was born, perhaps you are the only one she'll ever be close too. Isadora is much like your Uncle Thorne in that way, without the insanity. I did give her a gift however, but it'll be a while until it appears. Until then, you'll have to be there for her, and the rest of the family." She pauses, and the vision grows blurrier. I'm sorry sweetheart, it's morning now. I wish I didn't have to leave, but it's time now. I love you Irish." With that sudden farewell, Irish wakes up to bright sunshine. She buries her head into the pillow and starts to cry, finally letting herself feel the grief that she never truly dealt with.

Isadora hasn't spoken for a few days now. Sure, she's said all the bullshit you're supposed to say when you talk to people, but she hasn't said anything she's actually meant. She doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't give a damn what they think she should be feeling. Isa thinks that Irish understands, at least a little more then everybody else. She's just there, not pushing her or forcing her to make up some fucked up lie about how she's feeling like she's going to crumble any moment. She's just...cold. Numb. She's not feeling like she's going to burst into tears over this, she feels oddly disjointed from the whole thing. The only thing she can do is paint.

She wanted to make a skeletal angel, as haunted and lost as she feels right now. But for Irish's sake, she'll make a nice lighthouse with a nice island. But she'll make the water stormy and murky, a small speck of the turmoil that she's hidden away within herself.

Irish is struggling with her homework, and it's pissing her off. Well, it's not really the homework's fault. She's just so worried about her family, they all seem silent and lost within themselves. Isadora won't talk, Roxanne won't sleep, and Tyson is so...freaking cheerful! But his eyes completely broadcast how sad he felt about Nathalie's death. She knows that Tyson was always much closer to Nathalie then he was to Ned. So when Tyson comes over to help with her homework, she can't make herself decline, despite the fact she knows that her homework will remain woefully incomplete.

Nathalie was always there for him when Ned was off fishing, and they shared a passion for logic. It makes sense that Tyson would grieve for her harder. But to not let himself grieve at all terrifies Irish. She's knows that it'll explode in his face, like a poorly made chemistry concoction. She's done that before with Ned's death, spending the first night forcing the tears to go away. It seemed to work until she screamed and yelled at Nathalie in the morning, the one who was suffering the most. Hopefully Dad realized that before he did the same to her, or Isa or Roxanne.

"So...you're struggling with this question right here. That's easy!" Irish rolls her eyes, advanced functions is not THAT easy!
"For the genius who's already done this course, maybe, but not for me! Ugh, I HATE MATH!" Tyson gives her a fatherly pat on the back, perhaps trying to comfort her. She isn't really sure.
"Hm, I've never had that problem, being the genius boy and all." Irish gives a frustrated glare and he stops with that line of thinking. "I was never one for English though, too many rules that you had to learn. Then you had to break them sometimes, and poetry...don't get me started on poetry! I get your pain sweetheart." He pauses for a moment, and Irish wonders if that had a double meaning.
"While I love hearing about your English agony, I want to get to the bottom of this stupid math question!" Irish grumbles as Tyson starts laughing at her. In his fit of laughter, he points out a small section towards the top of her equations.
"It's just a typo honey, you have everything else right. You're smarter then you think!" Irish lightly swats him in the head, still annoyed but feeling much better about the equation. Now if only it was something as inconsequential as a typo that was hurting her family...

Tyson starts to stand up, a lingering sadness in his eyes despite laughing just moments ago. "You come to me if you have any more questions, alright?" Tyson asks, and Irish knows that this is more then homework.
"I will Dad, I love you." Irish can feel, rather then see, Tyson's grief. His familiar grin is there, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore.
"I love you too sweetheart." He kisses her on the cheek, his five o'clock shadow bristling against her soft skin. Irish touches her cheek after he leaves, her heart aching in grief for her family. She hates to see them hurting, but she hopes it's the kind of pain that makes them stronger in the end.